The Paper Swan(36)

“No, no, no!” Esteban wanted to rip him open so he could grab three hundred and fifty pesos from his black, liquor-soaked liver. He went looking through the whole house, but found nothing, not even a can of beans he could sell for some cash.

Esteban had no choice but to turn to the one man who could help him: Warren Sedgewick.

Look after it, he’d told Victor, just as he’d done after Esteban had punched Gidiot.

Esteban was pretty sure Warren would have stepped in had he known about the punishment Victor had set for him, and he was pretty sure he’d step in now if he learned exactly how Victor had ‘looked after’ MaMaLu. Esteban believed that Skye’s father was a fair man. He had tried to protect MaMaLu from El Charro, the man whose face Esteban had not seen. Warren had sent money, lots of money, to have Esteban cared for, not knowing that Fernando was a dirty, rotten alcoholic. Esteban was convinced that if Warren knew the truth, he would get MaMaLu out of Valdemoros.

The walk from Fernando’s place, in Paza del Mar, to Casa Paloma was thirty minutes. Esteban sprinted the whole way, his feet getting cut on the small, jagged stones that littered the path through the jungle, but he was filled with hope. He ran through the dense foliage, ducking branches that swatted his face and arms, until the trees thinned out and he could see the gates of Casa Paloma.

He spotted Warren and Skye getting into their silver Peugeot. The driver pulled out of the circular driveway. They had just cleared the wrought iron gates when Esteban got there.

“Wait!” He ran after them on the dirt road that led out of Casa Paloma. The wheels were spinning clouds of dust in their wake. Esteban’s lungs filled with dry, powdered earth.

“Skye,” he shouted.

She turned around and looked at him through a haze of grime and grit.

“Stop. Skye!” He waved, coming to a standstill as a sharp pain gripped his side. He doubled over, trying to ease the runner’s stitch.

Skye turned away and the car continued down the road.

“Skye,” he sobbed, falling to his knees.

Beads of sweat dripped from his brow and mingled with the dusty, baked earth.

Esteban didn’t understand why Skye had not asked her father to stop. He had not seen her since the night they took MaMaLu away. Didn’t she wonder where he’d been? Didn’t she miss him and MaMaLu?

Skye must have had a good reason, and when they got back, she would tell him. Esteban decided to wait. The sooner he spoke to Warren about MaMaLu, the sooner he’d get to see her.

Esteban walked back to the gates. He saw Victor, locking them up with a chain and padlock. Victor. He was responsible for this. He had sent MaMaLu away. All of Esteban’s rage and frustration boiled over. He forgot that he was a twelve-year-old boy up against a hired henchman. He forgot that even Blondie and Bruce Lee get the shit kicked out of them. He forgot everything except the fact that Victor Madera was the reason MaMaLu was in Valdemoros.

“Victor!” Esteban had the advantage of surprise, and he’d been practicing high kicks and punches for months. He went straight for Victor’s torso.

“Estás puto—are you mad?” Victor staggered back and the chain clanged against the gate. “I thought I told you to stay at Fernando’s. You should learn to listen!” He circled Esteban.

It wasn’t much of a fight. Esteban closed his eyes as he felt the blows on his back and chest. When he fell to the ground, Victor kicked him in the stomach.

“Go home, you stupid little shit,” he said.

But Esteban shook his head, cradling his tummy. “I’m not leaving until I see Se?or Sedgewick.”

“You think Se?or Sedgewick gives a f*ck about you? You think he’s going to bring MaMaLu back?” Victor laughed. “You poor, naive bastardo. You are as expendable to these rich gringos as yesterday’s newspaper.”

“That’s not true!” Esteban’s face was caked with dirt. When he wiped the tears, they left brown streaks on his cheeks. “Skye is my friend.”

“Really?” Victor shook his head in mock pity. “Tell me, did your friend say goodbye? Did she tell you she was leaving and never coming back?”

“You’re lying.You’re a dirty, filthy liar!”

“Wait then. Wait for your friend and her father to come save you.”

Esteban was too tired and too hurt to react when Victor walked away. He was bruised and battered on the outside, and simmering with shame and anger on the inside. He felt feeble and powerless and beaten down. He lay doubled up by the locked gates, under a merciless afternoon sun.